


For want of 520 cenz

by Starrie_Wolf



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: 520 cenz, Al is a saint for putting up with these two, Banter, Developing Relationship, Everything is a competition with Ed, Humour, M/M, RoyEd zine, So is Riza
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27360742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/pseuds/Starrie_Wolf
Summary: “We’re going out for dinner.”“We… are?” Roy asks, a little blankly. Surely he would have remembered, in between all the flashing lights and the million and one officials wanting a word with him, if he had made dinner plans with Edward? In fact, up until his office door slammed open, he has been labouring under the assumption that he is going out for a celebratory dinner with his team.Whose members, he hasn’t failed to note, are currently one by one sidling out of the door. “I don’t recall a prior engagement –”“It must have slipped your mind,” Riza interrupts, and for a moment Roy is too busy spluttering to respond.“You –” he finds his voice again, “I can literally see you adding it in right now –”Riza glances up from his calendar, deliberately finishes the last few strokes of her pen, and then sets it down. “It must have slipped my mind too,” she agrees, without a single change in her inflection. “Please do not be late for the first appointment of your tenure, Mr Führer,Sir.”
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 14
Kudos: 293





	For want of 520 cenz

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Flame & Steel: a RoyEd zine

It’s a good thing Al checks all of Ed’s pockets before putting the clothes in the washing machine, or there could been a minor disaster.

“Brother!” he shouts, fishing the coins out. “You left your change in your coat pocket!”

“What?” Ed yells back from the kitchen, where he is either trying to cook them dinner or invent an alchemic contraption that would be able to reheat cold food at the snap of his fingers, reference not intended. “I don’t keep change –”

He pokes his head into the laundry room, and Al waves the evidence at him.

“Ah,” Ed says eloquently, and then, “Excuse me.”

He snatches the 520 cenz from Al’s hand, and a moment later Al hears the slam of the front door.

Al blinks at his empty palm. “I wonder what all that’s about?”

* * *

To say Roy is bewildered would be a massive understatement.

“Full – Mr Elric,” he corrects himself, because  _ People _ makes for a terrible nickname, this is why the public should not be counted upon to name their heroes – and he is digressing. “What brings you here?”

_ Here _ meaning his new office, in the middle of military headquarters – which Edward should not have been able to march into, but it has only been three years since the Promised Day, and memories are long when it comes to the end of the world: specifically, about the man who saved them all.

Roy would confess, in the depths of his mind, that he was absolutely astonished when the Elric Brothers had chosen to settle down in Central City. Back when Edward had still been his subordinate, there had been many a diatribe about the smog in the air, the taste of the water, the presence of the military… if Roy had been a betting man, he’d have put good money on the two of them retiring to Resembool upon their return to Amestris.

But instead, they’d come  _ here _ .

“Oy, bastard, are you even listening to me?”

“That’s bastard  _ Führer _ to you, Mr Elric,” Roy snipes back before his brain catches up with his mouth, and it’s all he can do to keep the wince from showing on his face. It seems that not even the passage of time has quite successfully managed to dull the kind of response Edward just  _ inspires _ in him.

Edward scrunches up his nose, as if to refute the veracity of that title, but it’s not like he can argue with reality. He was, after all, present at the investiture just that morning.

That morning –

Ah.

He thinks he understands now.

“We’re going out for dinner,” Edward declares brusquely.

“We… are?” Roy asks, a little blankly. Surely he would have remembered, in between all the flashing lights and the million and one officials wanting a word with him, if he had made dinner plans with Edward? In fact, up until his office door slammed open, he has been labouring under the assumption that he is going out for a celebratory dinner with his team.

Whose members, he hasn’t failed to note, are currently one by one sidling out of the door. “I don’t recall a prior engagement –”

“It must have slipped your mind,” Riza interrupts, and for a moment Roy is too busy spluttering to respond.

“You –” he finds his voice again, “I can  _ literally _ see you adding it in right now –”

Riza glances up from his calendar, deliberately finishes the last few strokes of her pen, and then sets it down. “It must have slipped my mind too,” she agrees, without a single change in her inflection. “Please do not be late for the first appointment of your tenure, Mr Führer,  _ Sir _ .”

* * *

Edward is stabbing at his dinner like it personally offended him, but Roy can’t imagine why. The food’s delicious.

Then again, he’s probably biased, since this has been one of his favourite restaurants in Central ever since he was a cadet. The portion size, cost, and quality had intersected at an angle that had been particularly irresistible for a financially-challenged teenager – which, he supposes, may be why  _ Edward _ also favours this restaurant with his repeated custom.

Roy digs into his steak with gusto. It’s as good as he remembered, and exactly what he would have ordered had he actually been given a choice in the matter. For some reason Edward had snatched the menu from the table and rattled off two orders before Roy could even pretend to browse through the options, and Roy can’t imagine why.

So that he can’t deliberately choose the most expensive items on the menu? Edward Elric, although known for his predilection to hunt for wild game rather than pay for slightly-overpriced tavern food, is hardly the kind of man to be so petty.

Besides, Roy is fairly certain  _ he _ was the one to introduce Edward to this place. He can’t really expect Roy not to know the menu by heart, can he?

Edward is now glaring at Roy instead of the food. Roy racks his brains, but he can’t think of anything he’s done lately that could have offended Edward. His former subordinate is currently busy rocking the foundations of the scientific world now that alchemical pursuits are no longer a practical option for him; Roy hasn’t even seen him in months until the investiture this morning.

Roy can charm three politicians before it’s time for morning tea, but making small talk with Edward feels as insurmountable as an invasion of Briggs. “How is your research going?” is the question he finally settles on.

Edward’s scowl could have lit Briggs on fire, and Roy has perhaps a fraction of a second to feel wrong-footed before that expression is no longer directed at him. Surprisingly enough, Edward proceeds to launch into a detailed explanation of exactly how his department is squandering its funds on fruitless avenues of research, sprinkled with choice expletives and opinion-loaded descriptions that would’ve gotten him court-martialled had this been a military briefing.

Roy hasn’t had so much fun in years.

(Four years, two months, eighteen days.)

Far too soon in his opinion, the waitress is making the rounds with the bills, and even Roy’s new station in life is powerless against the sands of time.

“I’ll get it,” Edward warns, before Roy could so much as offer to foot the bill – on account of his far superior salary nowadays, of course, with no ulterior motive in mind – or even suggest they go Dutch.

10,400 cenz, Roy reads upside-down.

Edward makes no attempt to hide it. “Guess you’ll just have to owe me again,” he grumbles.

Roy opens his mouth to ask why not just let him pay in the first place, and then the number clicks. 10,400. Roy owes Edward half that; that is, exactly 5,200 cenz.

“You don’t have to.” The words fall out of his mouth before he can choke them down, falling neatly through the disconnect that is his mind coldly quantifying the worth of his company at an amount that’s less than a day’s salary and the fluttering in his stomach that Edward puts any value in his company at all.

Edward looks at him like he’s gone insane, irritation and what Roy can tell is anger borne out of embarrassment in equal measure. “I know,” he snaps, like Roy’s statement is a personal offence. “I  _ want _ to.”

Roy stares at the way Edward’s cheeks turn pink, the way his eyes are darting around the room instead of looking at Roy, and feels like his world is tilting off its axis.

Edward wants to keep seeing him in an unofficial capacity.

He knows for a fact that the rest of his men go out with Edward on a semi-regular basis, and he’s glad for that preservation of those bonds.

This dinner, the way his team members slip out of his office as if to give them privacy, the look on Riza’s face that screams  _ this is for your own good, Sir _ … this feels a little different.

“Edward,” he says slowly. “Do you mean –”

Edward’s cheeks darken into a fetching blush, but he doesn’t deny what Roy is insinuating. “If you say you feel short-changed,  _ Roy _ , I will punch you in the face.”

* * *

It, somehow, becomes a  _ thing _ .

* * *

“You know, at some point you two have to admit that you’re dating.”

“We’re not dating,” Edward and Roy reply simultaneously.

“Brother, he outfitted an entire  _ laboratory  _ for you. For 5.2 million cenz.”

“WHAT?!” Edward screeches.

* * *

“We should probably stop lying to ourselves. We  _ are _ dating.”

“Who are you calling so short-sighted, he can’t even see – mmpfh!”

* * *

“Hah!” Ed crows, pointing an accusing finger at the final bill for their wedding reception. “That’s not divisible by 520, you bastard!”

Silently, Roy produces another receipt from his pocket. And then another. And even more, until he is holding a small sheaf of papers.

“What are these?” Ed demands, even as his eyes dart through the pile, adding them up. “It doesn’t count if you’re combining receipts –”

“For the honeymoon,” Roy points out. “I thought you would prefer it if I didn’t spend the entire 52 million cenz on the wedding alone –”

Ed throws the entire stack at Roy’s head and drags him down for a kiss.


End file.
